


A Dream Beneath the Northern Lights

by Nightmist



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluffy Smut, Hot Springs & Onsen, Multiple Orgasms, Praise, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: Haurchefant knows the Warrior of Light works too hard, endures too much. He is determined to, somehow, get her to take a little time to herself.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54
Collections: Bookclub Winter Fic Exchange 2020





	A Dream Beneath the Northern Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ForgivenWhimsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgivenWhimsy/gifts).



> For sweet Whimsy; hopefully I have done her girl not too badly here.

"Just one night. Is it so much to ask, that you let yourself take a single evening, to let a little weight be taken from your shoulders?"

An earnest entreaty made of someone who is all too like to forget themselves entire if given the chance. Haurchefant offers the most pleading grin he can manage to the Warrior in front of him, relying on boyish charm to de-emphasize how much taller he is than her seeming slightness. (As the few au ra women he has seen go, she might be tall, but compared to him…) He wishes not to intimidate, but to coax, all but vibrating with restrained energy.

Shiloh's golden gaze is weary and wary, despite his warmth and their friendship, and he longs to thaw more of that from her. So many truths live on the back of his tongue, crowding his mouth, wanting to shove their way to the front. And as he has time and time and time again, he holds them back, because part of loving her is being gentle and patient. His wish to share cannot outweigh his concerns for her readiness, her openness. If one of them suffers in uncertainty, may it ever be him, and only in the speaking, for he knows his own heart and 'tis only hers now. Still, some manner of trust must show, because after a moment, she bows her head, flaxen braids shifting against her shoulders. "I suppose one night while we wait for word from your family won't hurt. Where is this cabin?"

Aglow with delight in his success, Haurchefant steps back, spreading his arms wide with glee. "Just a short chocobo ride up the mountains, not even a bell away. The hot springs makes it popular to bring visiting diplomats to. Or world-weary heroes, in need of a chance to soak themselves soothed and calm." His mind is already racing on what to have the kitchens pack, what to bring himself. "Allow me to handle everything. Naught to trouble your mind but packing a change of clothes for tomorrow and something to sleep in."

"Are you sure there is nothing I can do to help? Surely—" 

Haurchefant cuts her off with a gentle tut of his tongue, hands falling on softly rounded shoulders shrouded in a healer's robes. "Nay, not a single thing. I claim my right as host to this indulgence." Her look is uncertain, but too kind to argue, and he bundles her off to collect her own things, even as his mind races on to his own.

*****

Between a flurry of orders and actions, Haurchefant still manages to beat her out to the stables, checking over the packs on the pair of chocobos with satisfaction. The camp's stores have at least been more than enough to equip the Warrior and her two companions with appropriate warm weather gear. (Although he suspects it might be better not to tell her that finding ways to knit warm coverings fitted to her horns and tail have become a popular competition among the younger serving women, many of whom are more than happy to brag to potential husbands that their handiwork was selected by the Warrior of Light.) 

On Shiloh's arrival, well bundled and still slightly begrudging his pressuring her into taking time to care for herself, Haurchefant beams and helps her up onto her bird. The ride he fills with idle social chatter, not minding that most of her contributions are no more than soft, vague noises to confirm that she is paying at least a little attention. That is fine; the destination is what matters here. Before sunset, they turn around a snow-scaped ridge to find a small cabin, tucked away in the shelter of a small ring of conifers. A small stable against the building's side provides shelter for their mounts.

Unlocking the door, Haurchefant bundles the Warrior inside, then beams with delight as she takes in the space, as if he himself decorated it instead of merely arranging for it to be maintained as part of his duties at Camp Dragonhead. The decor is a rather lush nobleman's interpretation of rustic, with lots of bare, polished wood and rich fabrics, heat from a cast-iron stove and a roaring fireplace filling the front room. A short hallway leads to two bedrooms and a large bathing chamber, with skylights filtering in the fading sunlight onto the slow current running through the natural hot spring contained within.

While she takes in the sight, Haurchefant bustles, setting down bags, laying out the spread from the picnic basket by the fireplace. Her attention returns to him at that and there's a small noise of surprise, a bewildered blink at the dishes of steaming food. He cannot keep from laughing, warm and merry. "Did you think I was going to feed you half-raw meat grilled over an open fireplace? My dear friend, I mean for you to relax! The kitchens are well used to packing for meetings here, please, sit, enjoy."

There are sandwiches, sealed crocks of hearty stew that helped keep the food warm, and paper wrapped bundles of fresh baked cookies. Simple fare but hearty and warming, and it allows them both to sprawl on the rug by the fire, indulging in idle conversation about the daily matters of the camp, of Coerthan history and tales.

When the food is done and containers tucked back away, Haurchefant stands, offering both hands to his warrior of gold and alabaster. "Come, come! The hot springs are the real stars of this location, and I will insist you partake!" He can see the doubt on her face, the hesitation at vulnerability and at self-indulgence. Patting a hand against his chest, the knight teases, "I will be an absolute gentleman, if that be your preference, although I cannot promise my thoughts will be equally pure. You will forgive me?"

The laugh that rings from her suggests that she thinks he is making a joke. Which he is, at least, making light, but he fully does intend to enjoy the view. There's no harm in looking and thinking, after all. On the way back, he grabs a carafe of cold water to leave by the pool side, stepping into the back room a moment later. It's really less a traditional room than a walling in of natural springs, one steaming even more heavily than the other. The lighting is bright, with the moon shining through the slanted glass panels in the roof, and Haurchefant can see the first bands of the northern lights starting to play across the darkness in cyan and malachite.

A soft gasp as she follows him and looks up. Beaming with pride as he starts to shed his own clothing, Haurchefant admits, "Aye, that's the real lure of this spot. Hot water, privacy, and one of Halone's most blessed views in the Highlands, all without having to be out in the cold directly." He drops his clothes in a pile on a chair and climbs into the hotter spring, years upon years of being a soldier having long since trained any sense of body shyness out of him. Not that he has any shame of his body — it is more than serviceable, well formed, powerful enough to do what he wishes of it.

She is more hesitant, the warrior taking her time in stripping, self-conscious. Polite, he averts his eyes, even if it is one of the sights he most longs to see, at least until she slips into the pool to join him. The water seeps up her hair, turning it to molten sunlight around her shoulders, and he can be nothing but utterly charmed. Leaning back, Haurchefant slings his arms along the edge, sinking down deeply and uttering a lazy groan of contentment.

He is all the more surprised when Shiloh resettles within the extended circle of his arms, not against him, but close enough… For a while, they sit in companionable silence, watching the sky painted with ribbons of luminescent color. Only when she relaxes enough to rest her head on his shoulder does he turn his own head, brushing a soft kiss across a smooth forehead. "If you would allow, my dear friend, I would do more for you."

A soft sound of inquiry, her chin lifting as she looks at him, golden eyes set in skin pinked by the heat of the water, the wet strands of her hair heavy and molten. Carefully, he brushes them back away from her face. "I ask only that you let me take your burdens for a handful of bells, let me spoil and worship you, with no obligation or expectation. You mean too much to me, to the world, to suffer needlessly. Let me be your balm, your ease." 

It is enough that she understands it, flush deepening, then shy and hesitant, she nods.

Oh so carefully, his touch like handling blown glass, Haurchefant lifts her and helps Shiloh sit on the rim of the pool of steaming water. In this position, the difference in their heights is minimized, and he leans in, one hand braced to the rim near her hip, one curling to rest against her cheek like a sepal around a blossom. Focused in his devotion, he sweeps his thumb across her cheekbone, down to brush the corner of her mouth.

Lips part in response, ever so slight, gleaming wetly in the low light, and unable to resist any more, he covers them with his own. He can still taste the earlier hot chocolate on her breath, and oh, the sweet heat of it is all too perfect. Gentle and tender, he swipes his tongue across her mouth, sees if she will allow him deeper. When lips part, he delves and licks a path into her, showing devotion in body and touch that he dares not to speak aloud for fear it will all be too much for her to bear.

He keeps kissing her, soft brushes, lingering caresses, as his touch explores further, combing through her hair, lightly rubbing over the patterned texture of the elegant sweep of her narrow horns, so different from elezen ears. She shivers a bit at the sensation, and he matches it, loving the responsiveness. When his hand reaches her shoulder, large against her, he pulls back enough to ask, breath an excited rush, "If you would allow me, my dear friend, I would attend further to your pleasure and relaxation. Will you allow me the honor of exploring you?"

Hesitance in her gaze momentarily, but he knows her enough to be sure it comes from self-denial, lack of self-worth, not from a genuine lack of desire. Still, he is a gentleman in all relevant senses, and he waits, as patient as time, for her to make her choice between desire and denial. Welcoming, warm, a smile turns up her lips and he knows that affection and arousal have carried the motion, as his darling Warrior leans to press a brief kiss to the high arch of his nose. "Please."

With permission given, Haurchefant sweeps his thumbs along her collarbone, trails his touch to lightly cup over the swell of her bosom. The slight lift of her nipples is a lure and he flicks fingers across them, rolls the buds gently, pinches them ‘til they're hard and every little touch makes her moan and whimper softly, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Her skin is flushed, whether by the heat of springs or from the situation, and it makes her patches of scales all but glow against the pink-gold hue, pale and shining. 

When he replaces one hand with the warm heat of his mouth, she sinks fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans around the bit of flesh, his free arm bracing against her side. Heady with delight at her enjoyment, Haurchefant suckles firmly, careful to cushion his teeth, pushing until she is gasping almost constantly, until he can feel tremors running through her form, ‘til she is eager and impatient. 

Placing a firm grip on her hips, he draws her forward until she is just on the edge of the sunken spring, dropping to his knees in the water. Her own are gently spread and he sets himself between them, lays a devoted kiss to each patella, blazes a trail with nuzzles and delicate nibbles up the soft flesh of inner thigh. Nearing her sex, he breathes in deeply, the soft musk of feminine arousal mixing with the mineral steam. 

With slow, deliberate swipes of the flat of his tongue, he parts her folds as if he were opening the doors to Halone's own halls. Keeping to the same pace, he delves deeper, tasting the spread of her slick across his tongue, warm and tinged with salt. Trace the path of her inner folds, shape prayers and litanies of devotion around and against her pearl. What starts as soft gasps and whimpers rapidly becomes full moans, slim fingers burying into the coarse stands of his blue-silvered hair, fisting to pull him in closer.

Oh, it is a joy, to curve his lips into a smile against her very core, long ears twitching when the addition of a fingertip slowly teasing her entrance draws a sound very near to desperate. A serene curl inwards, massaging slowly, and her hips buck up as she clenches around him in sharp waves. Hands start to loosen in his hair, and mouth still pressed to her folds, Haurchefant smiles.

He has no intention of letting her be finished with merely a _single_ flaring star of pleasure. Humming his satisfaction, he wraps lips around her pearl, suckling gently as his tongue continues to trace volumes of poetry against the flesh. She keens sharply, close as he refuses to let her back down, making her jolt again a few seconds later as he eases in a second finger. For a moment, he allows a return to easier breathing. Then he angles them to that rougher patch that feels just _so_ against fingertips, the one that when pressured in time with steady draws of his lips at her core is all but guaranteed to turn the magic-wielding warrior into a trembling, writhing mess.

So he does, 'til he loses track of how often she has cried out in ecstasy, how many times her hips have ground up against his mouth, how many times her slick has painted his fingers. When she is limp and whimpering, he carefully draws back, rinsing fingers clean in the spring before smoothing them over her thighs, massaging the edges of scales gently. "If I have overtired you, my dear friend, I am happy to carry you back to your room to sleep."

She laughs, breathless and protesting, and just hearing that joy is more than enough payment. Trying to push herself up onto her hands, the raen woman wobbles, then leans back, laughing again as she waves one set of digits. "Fine, I will _allow_ you to carry me off and tuck me in. This once." With permission granted, he is more than happy to scoop her up and carry her towards one of the bedrooms, humming smugly. Mission accomplished indeed!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, want to talk and hang out with other people who love FFXIV fic, whether it be writing it or reading it? Please stop by [The Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) and join us!
> 
> Want to bug me specifically? My various social media (an be found via [my carrd](https://nightmist.carrd.co).
> 
> If you are so kind to have read this and are up to it, authors thrive most entirely upon comments, a crumb is ever appreciated.


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